The Things I Do For Love
by licoricewolf
Summary: Forgive me, I couldn't think of a better title. Drabbles and such inspired by RPs.
1. That Time Zsasz Slashed Your Throat

White.

There's too much white.

But that's just how Arkham is, I suppose. It's white, and sterile, but dingy. Like the soap in a motel room shower. It's always been like this.

And it seems like every time I'm here it's for the same reason.

Except this time… he's…

"Don't," I manage to squeak out through my tears.

I'm holding his hand, like every other time we've done this. He's unconscious. No nurses or doctors, of course. No Eddie, and for that I'm glad, because I don't want him to see me like this. I don't want him to see me shaking and sobbing like a lab rat that knows it's about to be tested on.

"Don't— don't leave me, you— you can't," I whimper.

And he doesn't say anything.

He doesn't laugh. He doesn't give my hand a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't tell me to stop crying or wrap his arms around me or even make any indication that he can hear me.

I'm alone.

No more getting gassed. No more awkward fatherhood discussions. No more "Speaking of toes, have you ever dissected a pregnant woman?"

None of it.

And for the first time in my life, I stare straight into his face, and utilize a momentary lapse in my sobbing to tell him I hate him for that.


	2. Death is the Greatest Mystery of All

"D… Doctor, I… I'm sorry…"

Jonathan held Edward's body in his hands, the blood on his hands matting in the smaller man's auburn hair as Jonathan stroked it. Pirhanna stood behind them uncomfortably, trying to process.

Edward was… he'd been shot. He'd been shot right in the chest, exactly where his heart was.

Or had he?

Everything felt… wrong, surreal. He was… He was Edward Nygma, the Riddler, criminal mastermind. He couldn't be killed by something… something as simple as a bullet. He couldn't.

"D—Doctor Crane?" Pirhanna stuttered quietly. She reached out to touch Jonathan's bony shoulder, but he turned around and pointed at her with one long, bloody finger.

_"This is your fault!"_ he cried furiously. _"None of this would have happened if you'd never crawled into our lives!"_

She recoiled as if she'd been slapped, tears finally dripping from her eyes. This was too much. Edward was dead, and now Jonathan hated her. And she couldn't blame him, because she knew deep down, it _was_ her fault, just as it always was when something bad happened to them.

But it wasn't Edward's blood or Jonathan's harsh tone that made her flee, nor even the rage that burned in his icy blue eyes. It was the tears streaming down his gaunt face.

She'd never seen him cry before. And for the first time, she was frightened of him.


	3. But I Like It Too Much

A/N: This one is first-person from Crane's perspective. In case you needed clarification.

* * *

Edward's screams are very effeminate. I mean, a lot of him is effeminate, but his screams are particularly womanly. They're high-pitched and almost operatic. And they're not regular, horror-movie screams, they're fevered and desperate and—

"AAAAIIIIEEEAAaaaaAAAAAA—""

Oh, there's one now.

I kneel in front of him and his pupils are dilated and I just love it. I swear, the way his sweat and tears mix with his cologne is one of the most heavenly aromas I know.

"AAEEEEEEEMake it stop maKE IT STOP PLEEEAAASSS—"

Oh, and now he's trying to speak. How amusing.

"But why would I want to stop now, Eddie?" I croon, sliding down so I'm level with him on the ground. He curls farther into a fetal position and whimpers like a kitten. I chuckle and run my hand through his ginger hair— by now it's easy, he's worked all the product out with sweat and frantic fingers— making him shriek once more.

"I'll tell you why," I continue. I sit back up and pull him onto my lap, shaking and quivering like a mass of green Jell-O. He whimpers again and I kiss his burning temple.

"You're just so _cute_ when you're scared, Eddie."


	4. Making Friends

"I wanna go to the movies!"

"No."

"I wanna go shopping!"

"No."

"I wanna play a game!"

"No."

Harley blew a raspberry furiously at the hulking Spaniard across from her on the couch.

"Fine. I'll just go find something to do by myself."

…

Bane jerked awake from his place on the couch. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and then glanced at the clock. It had been forty-five minutes since he'd seen Harley. Knowing her, that meant trouble. He stood and stretched, the Venom storage tank on his back creaking ominously, before setting out to look for her.

….

"More tea, Boo?"

" 'Yes, please, Mrs. Joker!' "

"Right-a-rooni. There ya go!"

Harley picked up a blowtorch and daintily held it over a chipped mug she had scrounged up from the warehouse, pretending to pour tea for the tarnished stuffed bear across from her. She had come across it and decided to have a nice little tea-party.

"Oh, Boo, I'm so glad I found you. I was just dyin' a boredom back there with Bane—"

_**"What are you doing?!"**_

Harley jumped and let out a tinny shriek as Bane shouted. It sounded like a thunderclap going off in the warehouse corner she had inhabited.

"I'm— I'm havin' a tea-party—!"

Bane stomped towards her and she let out a terrified squeak, running to hide behind the bear. "Me an' Boo was just havin' a tea-party! You— you wanna join us?"

Bane paused, a confused look in his eyes. Harley saw her opportunity and regained most of her composure. "We were just gettin' ready to have some cookies," she said cheerily. She motioned at the table. "Sit with us!"

The Spaniard stared at her for a moment, wondering if it was a trick. Then he slowly sat down, his gaze shifting to the bear.

"His name is Osito," he mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"I— nothing."

Harley resumed her duties as a hostess, pouring a cup of tea for Bane and chattering away happily. Bane tuned her out and looked at Osito, smiling slightly. Perhaps friends were not so rare as he first thought.


	5. Never Meet Your Idols

A/N: The original canon Becky Albright is, admittedly, very different from the Becky you see in my fics after I've got my hands on her. A friend who plays Scarecrow and Riddler with me on tumblr mentioned that the original Becky and I would probably hate each other. This popped into my head. :U

* * *

There was a soft knock on the door of Rebecca Albright's office on the seventh floor of the GCPD building. The Assistant District Attorney stood, a slight frown forming on her face— she wasn't scheduled to meet with anyone. She walked to the door stiffly, leaning on her cane, and opened it. She raised one eyebrow at the girl in front of her. Blue hair, heavy eyeliner, a small canvas purse, and a sweatshirt bearing an all-too-familiar yellow and black logo on it. What on earth was the kid here for?

"Can I help you?" the redhead asked, her warm tone not entirely genuine.

"Yes, um, I was wondering if I could talk— interview you for a paper I'm doing?"

Rebecca stared at her for a moment before shrugging and standing back to admit the girl. She shut the door behind her and her guest stood awkwardly in front of the desk.

"Sit, please," the redhead said.

She sat.

"Who exactly are you? And what is your paper on, may I ask?"

"You can call me Pirhanna," the girl replied, flashing a slight smile. "I'm looking into the Dent Act."

"Prihanna, huh? Planning to devour anything while you're here?"

The girl giggled slightly. "No, ma'am. Unless you count information."

Rebecca nodded to herself satisfactorily, although she found it hard to believe the punked-out girl in her office was interested in Gotham's legal system. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, first off, um, could you give me your opinion on the Dent Act?" Pirhanna pulled a small legal pad and a pen out from her purse and looked up at the ADA eagerly.

The redhead sat and leaned back in her chair, setting her cane up against the side of her desk. "I think it's a wonderful idea," she said without smiling. "Heaven knows this city needs something like it to keep all those scumbags off the street."

"So— you don't believe in the insanity plea?"

"Oh, I believe there are some very disturbed people out there," Rebecca said darkly. She slowly, seemingly unconsciously, turned her swiveling chair away from Pirhanna, towards the window behind her. "And I believe that they should get treated just the same as mobsters or rapists. Arkham did more worse than good, especially in cases like Victor Zsasz and—" She paused and smiled bitterly to herself. Her back was now to Pirhanna.

"But that was before your time," the redhead finished. She gazed thoughtfully out at the city, dusk setting in and casting a warm glow over everything.

"So I've heard," the blue-haired girl replied. "If it's not too much trouble, is there anything you could tell me about Arkham? Any specific cases that stick in your mind?"

"No," Rebecca answered harshly. She sighed and stood, still looking out the glass wall distantly. "I— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off as rude— but it's not really my department. You'd be better off tracking down someone who worked there."

"I've tried. Most of them are dead, or won't talk to me," Pirhanna replied wryly.

The redhead let out a small chuckle. "Keep trying, kid," she said. "I think you can find _something._ You seem driven, determined—"

"Plucky?" she said quietly.

Rebecca's hands clenched unconsciously. "Wh-what did you say?" she asked.

"You heard me, Miss Albright." She was still quiet. Polite, almost.

The redhead remained staring out the window, her jaw set rigidly. "Who sent you?" she asked coldly.

"He did— Doctor Crane."

She finally mustered up the resolve and courage to turn and face her young visitor. Her brown eyes flickered over the girl, looking for a bulge in her coat, a handle sticking out of her pocket, anything that would suggest a concealed weapon. "What do you want?" she said coldly, glaring at the girl.

"He thinks you can talk some sense into me."

"He— _what?"_

Pirhanna looked at a point slightly to the left of the redhead, out the window. "We're… he's my friend. He thinks he's a menace. I disagree. He wanted me to see you so I can get a firsthand account of the 'dangers' he poses."

It was painfully clear that the girl wasn't taking this seriously.

Rebecca narrowed her eyes angrily. It wasn't enough that after all these years, Crane had wormed his way back into her life— no, somehow he'd found a way to replace her. With a child, no less. It sickened her, and deep down, she nearly felt jealous.

"I'm afraid you're in for a rude awakening," the redhead said. She opened a drawer in her desk and leafed through some files before pulling out a thick manila folder and throwing it abruptly on the desk.

"Your _'friend'_ the Scarecrow," she said coldly, pulling out the file's contents and spreading them across the desktop, "Is a convicted murderer, torturer, kidnapper, and stalker. He has been diagnosed as a sociopath with _extreme_ anger issues."

_You left out depression and suicidal tendencies,_ Pirhanna thought with a slight twinge in the region of her heartstrings.

"He's killed literally hundreds of people, nearly all of them defenseless victims," the ADA continued angrily. "He's sick— deranged— like a rabid dog. I can hardly fathom why you're even alive right now."

Pirhanna stared at the corner of the desk, not because the crime scene photographs were too much for her, but because she was having dinner soon and didn't want to spoil her appetite. She took a deep breath and said gently, "He's my friend."

Rebecca slammed the Arkham file she had been holding down on the desk, causing the girl to jump in surprise. "Scarecrow doesn't have friends," she snarled. "He has accomplices, people who pay him— and _victims."_

"He's a good per—"

_"Bull._ He has blood on his hands, Pirhanna, and he doesn't even bother to wash them."

The blue-haired girl took another deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before looking up into Rebecca's face. "If that's the case, Miss Albright, then I must have blood on me, too. Because the same hands that strangled _him—"_ she pointed to a photograph— "And cut _her_ open—" she pointed at another— "Are the same hands that hold onto me when I'm upset. I've poured out my heart and soul to him— he even knows where I _live_— and he's only ever been kind to me. Does that sound like a rabid dog to you?"

The redhead huffed furiously. "He's manipulating you! Stop being stupid!"

Pirhanna stood, glaring at the ADA. "He is a good person," she said sharply. "You just never gave him the chance to show you that."

The conversation was done; it was evident in the way Rebecca stared askance at her young guest and the way Pirhanna refused to look her in the eyes. The blue-haired girl turned and walked towards the door.

"Young lady, you need to see a doctor," the redhead snapped.

Pirhanna paused, her hand on the doorknob, and let out a small snort. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small rectangle of plastic, throwing it on the desk. _Arkham Asylum Visitor Badge,_ it read. _7-25-12. Seeing: Crane, J._

"I am."

She left, slamming the door slightly behind her. Rebecca rushed out the door after her, calling for security, but the girl had vanished without a trace.

The redhead eventually went back into her office and stood for a moment in silence. Then she let out an infuriated shriek and swept the file she had personally collected on Jonathan Crane to the floor. He was a rabid dog, she told herself. She was right to have refused him. That Pirhanna was deluding herself.

A rabid dog, and nothing more.

….

Fifteen minutes later, a blue-haired girl appeared out of nowhere, far away from the GCPD building and Rebecca Albright, with a slight popping noise. Jonathan Crane looked up from his bunk at the new addition to his cell in Arkham. "How did it go?" he asked wearily.

"I was right," Pirhanna said stiffly. "We hated each other. Now eat these fries before they get cold."


	6. Sniffff

"Jon, you smell good."

"… What?"

"You smell good." Edward said it so matter-of-factly that Jonathan thought it must have been a joke. He rolled over so his back was to Edward.

"Yeah, whatever—"

But Edward simply scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Jonathan's narrow waist. He rubbed his cheek happily across the skinny man's back, a dorky smile plastered to his face.

"Ed, what are you—?!"

"I told you. You smell good. Like straw and cigarettes and aftershave."

Jonathan was silent. How was he supposed to react to that..?

He opened his mouth, but Edward spoke first. "Actually, it's kind of a bad-ass smell," he sighed.

Jonathan lay in shock for a moment before he broke into a smile. He was fine with cuddles if it got him the title of Bad-Ass.


	7. The Silent Treatment

"Oh hey, Jon, I have another one!"

Edward bolted up on the couch he had previously been lying on, grinning at Jonathan in his armchair. "I have a head, a tail, but no legs. What am I?"

Jonathan sat motionless except for his pale eyes, which skimmed back and forth as he read a book. He must not have heard Edward.

"Jon," the redhead said again loudly. "Jon. Joooooon. Jooonn, Joooonnnnn, Jooonnnn."

No response.

"Jonathan? Dear? Sweetie? Mi amor?"

Silence.

Edward swung his legs over the edge of the couch and slowly edged towards the skinny man. Jonathan made no indication he saw or heard him.

The redhead leaned over Jonathan curiously, examining him closely from different angles. He was alive, functioning properly, just… not…

The realization hit Edward like Batman's fist. He failed to cover up a horrified noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a cry, and sunk to his knees in front of his boyfriend.

"Jon? Jon! JON!"

Jonathan ignored him completely.

"JONATHAN!"

The skinny man sat completely still, his eyes no longer following the path of words on the pages of his book, but fixed straight ahead as he tried to hold in his amusement. This wasn't Scared Edward, this was… this was Horrified, Having-A-Breakdown Edward. It was better than Scared Edward.

"JONATHAN, PLEASE!"

Nothing. Nothing to please Edward, nothing to indicate that Jonathan was listening to him at all.

At least, not until the redhead broke down crying and crawled into a corner. At that point Jonathan glanced up at him, smirked, and went back to his book. This was definitely his favorite way to screw with Edward.


	8. No Doctors Needed When There's No Aslyum

A/N: This one ended up being set in the Arkham-verse, though I'm not really sure why.

* * *

"You are experiencing _fear…"_

"Ed… Edw… rd…"

"The anticipation of some specific _pain_ or _danger…"_

"Pl… plea… se…"

"This is perfectly understandable."

Edward smirked triumphantly and nudged Jonathan's chin up with his cane. The scrawny man was tied up and dangling by his wrists. His voice was hoarse from screaming so much and his pupils were two different sizes.

Strangely enough, this was probably the sanest he'd seen the straw man acting in years.

"Pl… st… stop…"

"I don't think I will, Doctor," Edward mocked. "You see, I have some very, ah, _specific plans_ for the big bad Bat Man. Plans that _you,_ unfortunately…"

He picked up a needle full of yellow fear toxin and examined it for a moment before glancing up and meeting the Scarecrow's eyes. He smirked and stabbed the needle deep into his old comrade's neck, drawing out a high-pitched cry of pain.

_"… Aren't in."_


	9. Jinkies!

"Eddie, give me my glasses back—"

"No!"

"Come on, I need them—"

"No you don't."

"Yes I do, you know I can't see a thing without them—!"

Jonathan's long fingers scrabbled along Edward's wrist, making him giggle. He stretched his arm further above the skinnier man, Jonathan's thick glasses held daintily in his hand. He let out a frustrated growl as the glasses dangled just out of his reach.

"Edward, seriously, get off me—!"

"No!"

Jonathan growled again and tried to shove the redhead off his chest, but he was too heavy, of course. His patience was running out— he really couldn't see a thing without his glasses; he would have been oblivious to Edward's childish grin if he had not been able to hear it in his voice.

"Edward Nygma, I swear, if you don't give me my glasses back I'm going to—"

His threat was cut off as the redhead kissed him. He was so surprised that he didn't notice his glasses being pressed back onto his face.

"How's that?" Edward smirked, now clearly visible.

"you're a jerk," Jonathan growled. He didn't mean it, and Edward knew that. The redhead laughed and sat up, giving Jonathan a gentle punch in the chest. The skinnier man grumbled a little and adjusted his glasses.

For once, he didn't mind being taken advantage of.


End file.
